The Unseen Moments
by Remington Rand
Summary: Compilation of Life With Derek one-shots from my old account (LittleMissMorbid). Genre and ships included in each chapter. New one-shots will be uploaded separately, this was simply for convenience. Some M-rated content, primarily Dasey.
1. Infra-Red

_Ships: Casey/Derek  
Genre: General/Suspense  
Published: 08-25-09_

_Prompt: __Derek and Casey are in a car accident, they might not both survive._

_o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o_

It started with Derek. It always started with Derek, because there was something about him that made all eyes land on him, and even if he hadn't had that _something, _Casey would still have maintained that it started with him because he was the immature moron that propelled the general chaos in her life.

Except this time, it wasn't a prank or a comment that fueled their fight. In fact, they weren't fighting at all. Hilarious, right? That the only time they're _not _fighting is when tons of steel was keeping them dangerously close, something she typically couldn't stand with Derek.

Casey wondered how she could be so lucid and calm in such a dangerous situation. The real Casey would be screaming hysterically, till her throat was raw and the tears began to sting.

She had been, at first. But now she's just tired and numb. Her left leg, something that had exploded in pain prior to her screaming and crying, must have been tired too because she can't feel the pain anymore.

Truth is, she's been here for a while—it feels like days, and maybe it has been, she doesn't really know. Casey remembers how they were fighting over who got to control the radio. It was stupid, really. He wanted to listen to Blink-182, she wanted to listen to Mandy Moore. And it had been a long day of driving—dropping the kids off, picking them up, getting groceries, losing Marti, finding Marti—so when they finally arrived home and realized that the other (Casey would blame it on Derek, and vice versa) had forgotten the youngest of the McDonald clan, claws were unsheathed, razorsharp words adopted.

_He _(Casey still blames him) swerved into the path of a semi and in the process of attempting to avoid it, had gotten the vehicle flipped over and into a particularly deep ditch. In the beginning she'd heard cars and voices, but all had gone silent since then.

Maybe she's dead already and this was hell.

(It was a hit and run. It happened. There's no denying it, so she should just stopstopstop lying to herself and try to save her _and him_)

Derek still doesn't say anything. He's just resting his head on the steering wheel, his eyes shut. Casey pretends he's sleeping.

She begged him to wake up. Even hit him once, in her frustration. Anything would have sufficed—a groan, a smirk, an insult. But she received nothing for her trouble.

It was easier to pretend he was sleeping than potentially dead.

Then a voice shouts into the air, cracking like fireworks, exploding in her ears: _Henry! Henry, you bad dog! Get back here!_

The black furry muzzle that shoves itself against her cheek must undoubtedly belong to Henry. A long slobbery tongue begins to lick her skin and Casey almost giggles before realizing how inappropriate that response is.

Instead, she screams, _"Help! Over here!"_

There's a lot of expletives and gasping for breath as the next few minutes pass. Finally, a rotund, chubby face appears and the greasy lips form the words, "Are you okay?"

"Can you call an ambulance?"

It kind of surprises her how calm she still is, even as she's in the midst of being rescued. Maybe she hit her head and she can't feel emotions anymore.

"Shit, hold on, hold on, okay?"

The ambulance comes. They can't just pull her out—something about being pinned by the chunks of metal—so they cut her out. The screeching and whining of metal being chopped up doesn't rouse Derek in the slightest.

"You have to help Derek," Casey says, urgency finally bubbling up in her throat. She doesn't even notice the slip.

The man strapping her down into the ambulance looks her in the eyes and only nods.

"He'll be coming with me, right? You're taking him with me, you have to."

"We'll get him to you, ma'am."

The door slams shut. The sirens wail.

The first thing Casey notices is this—it _hurts. _The doctors and nurses are screaming in their medical lingo and with a normal brain Casey would probably be able to understand it, but she's so disoriented and _cold _that all she notices is the pain.

Then soon, she doesn't notice anything at all. She dreams.

It's not white like they portray in the movies. It's grey and green muddled colors that swarm her eyesight as she slowly goes in and out between consciousness and _not._

"_Casey."_

She groans.

"Casey!"

Eyes snap open but Casey finds herself unable to answer because there's this _fucking _plastic thing shoved down her throat.

Derek looms above her and she wonders why the hell he's able to walk when she's the one strapped to a bed with a plastic thing. He just stares at her, saying her name over and over, gently, like a lullaby. Soon she can't push the drugs away anymore and dreams again.

There's red lights and eyes made of flashlights and Derek, Derek is there and she has to find him. SHE HAS TO FIND HIM. So she pulls past the rubble and finds his arm, finds his eyes, his lips, and she cries because she can't save him after all.

(And in the back of her head, a song echoes)

"…_Someone call the ambulance_

_There's gonna be an accident.  
I'm coming up on infrared, there is no running that can hide you,  
'Cause I can see in the dark.  
I'm coming up on infrared, forget your running, I will find you."_

When she wakes up Derek isn't there anymore, but a nurse is. She's kind of fat with big chubby red cheeks and grey-tinged red hair. Casey thinks she belongs on the cover of some odd 60's magazine advert.

"Well, hello there. I heard you got into quite a pickle, little lady."

Casey just stares.

"Let's get this tube out, okay?"

The nurse murmurs instructions and just like that, the tube is gone and her throat is parched but free.

"I'm glad you're awake. You got quite a family waiting for you."

It burns as the name rises past her throat and off her lips, but she has to know: "Derek?"

The nurse pretends she doesn't hear and instead prepares her for the arrival of the family.

Nora goes first, taking her in with a giant hug and blubbery tears. Then Lizzie, though she's considerably less blubbery and more huggy.

The name makes its descent into the room, quietly. "Derek,"

"They had to take him to surgery, honey."

And that's all she needs to hear before panic rises back up and makes her scream and scream. The cherub-cheeked nurse comes in, ushering her family out and effectively shuts her up with more drugs.

Casey dreams that Derek is chopped up into little pieces, just like their car and carted away, to never be seen again.

In reality, the next time she wakes up, he's there again.

His head is possibly the most grotesque part—rows and rows of staples curve lines around the shaved parts of his skull, puffy and red and pulsating. There's bruises on his face and a few more stitches on his forehead. There's a padded collar around his neck and casts on his left arm and leg.

Casey wonders how she looks.

In reality, she has fared somewhat better with the extent of her injuries. She has plenty of bruises, and a few bandages, but only one cast.

She lays there, watching him, waiting for him to wake up so she can listen to one of his insults. Never had she wished to be insulted, but she wants it more than anything today.

Derek doesn't open his eyes that day, or on the second, third, or fourth day.

On the fifth day, though, at exactly 3:52 AM, he looks straight at her.

She says, "I missed you."

And Derek whispers, _"Me too."_


	2. Clarity

_Ships: Casey/Derek  
Published: 05-18-09_

_Genre: Romance_

_Warnings: M-rated content._

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

**Excitement**

It wasn't hard for her to make his heart race, palms sweaty, images of dismembered flesh and gore running through his head to keep the lower half of his body in check; her breath would hit his cheek, her fingers accidently skimming along some exposed flesh. She probably thought he was panting because they were arguing (Casey never did catch on quick to anything involving s-e-x), probably though the red tinting the back of his neck was through anger.

If the argument lasts long enough, he finds himself circling her like a predator would its prey; he has to remind himself to _not _lick his lips in anticipation because there is _nothing _to anticipate. She watches him, anger making her eyes glow, her red cheeks making her all the more deliciously alluring. She snaps, recoils at his quick remark, snarls when his telltale smirk graces his features.

Derek gets lost in their fights. Mesmerized by her movements, her eyes, her flushed skin, the dark hair the dances as she fidgets and moves in front of him. He doesn't even have to think about what to say in response to her words; it's automatic. And he can use the time she's distracted to bask in her _glow._

He sees her lips move—her plump, _fuckable, kiss-me-now _lips, begging him to give in to his temptation. And Casey continues to yammer on and on, subconsciously aware that it _kills _him when she does so. _Fucking tease._

So he gives up, gives in, takes his prey and tastes the softness of her lips, involuntarily groaning as he presses his body against hers roughly. She responds with fervor, not even fighting him when he pushes her to her bed (he smirks at this—what, no lecture on the germs, the cesspool of his room?)

If her eyes glowed when they fought, well fuck, they're on _fire _when he draws back from her neck, littered with small bruises.

This isn't a romance story—clothes are discarded in record time, skin scorches with every teasing, tantalizing touch.

**Plateau**

He's so achingly hard by the time she takes her bra off and those beautiful, soft pieces of flesh are exposed, the stiff centers already telling him she wants more. Casey tastes like anything forbidden—sweet, with generous sides of self-pride and obsession as additives. He tastes her once, he needs more. It's like a drug; he can't get enough.

All that health food has done Casey good, because no girl has ever tasted this good; she's squirming and gasping and _begging _him not to stop and that's quite possibly the best thing out of this whole mess—_she needs him._And when his suckling and licking gets to be enough, she has to bite down on her hand to muffle the scream that's crawling out of her throat.

She gasps for oxygen, expelling carbon dioxide at such a rate it startles him, and he sees her stomach dip in, dip out, as she waits for her heartbeat to slow. He sucks his index finger with a smirk, whispering, _finger-licking good, Princess._

She flushes in that typically predictable Casey way.

Her eyes glint with an odd devilish charm and, using her hand to take his shoulder, she pushes him down, dragging one long, lacquered fingernail down his stomach. He shudders. The grunt that comes out of his mouth is quite animalistic when she takes him in, her warm tongue doing things he never thought Casey McDonald, super-keener, could ever do.

**Peak**

She's quite evil—in the midst of all the raging hormones and crackling electricity, he had forgotten that, and just as he thinks he's about to get to his peak, she stops. Looks at him with widened baby blues, perching on her knees. At first he thinks she's about to get dressed and leave.

Well, well, well, Casey has a trick or two up her sleeve. Who knew girls like her kept condoms in their wallets? She slips it on slowly, sensuously, still staring at him with those eyes, and he can't even muster up the energy to ask _are you sure _because god he's so turned on right now and he _needs _it.

The surprising thing about Casey is this: she doesn't make love. She _fucks _roughly, enough to bruise both his hips and hers but Derek doesn't _care, _it feels so damn good.

It isn't simultaneous, he's not even sure she gets off, but the frenzied gyrating is enough to push him off the cliff, hook, line and sinker, enough to wish that _exact _moment would never end, because Casey is _so damn good _at this and he's a little appalled they didn't do this much, much earlier.

She lets out a little gasp when he pulls her down for a kiss.

**Resolution**

When she stares at him, watching him as he attempts to stay awake (girls like the cuddling thing, but he's a _guy, _it's biology, sleep is always the next thing after sex). Her features are muddled as he watches back, eyes half-lidded, taking her hand when she offers it.

It's odd, though, even with sleep making his thoughts muggy, he feels as if he's stumbled into a true moment of clarity, an epiphany.

Casey's actually…sort of beautiful.

He tries to voice this, but he only gets her name out and then sleep drags him away.

When he wakes up, Derek expects an empty room and the disappointing realization of a very realistic dream. His room _is _empty, but the numerous hickeys on his neck refute the argument of a dream. He throws on whatever clothes he can find and heads down the stairs in search of Casey and a snack. No Casey, but his snack is waiting for him in the fridge—a neatly wrapped BLT with a tiny heart drawn on the wrapper.

How sappily Casey.

She meets him in his room, as he lounges in his chair, reading an old issue of a video game magazine. Her legs carry her gracefully as she does some prissy ballet move to dodge the pie of dirty clothes in front of her. Taking up the whole center of his bed, drawing her sleek legs up to her chin, she says nothing.

Derek moves over to her side, at first attempting to imitate her legs-to-the-chin thing, then giving up and letting them sprawl in front of him.

He looks over to her, eyeing her slightly anxious profile, as she bites her lip.

"So, Case, you're kinda beautiful, you know."

He watches as a slow smile crosses her solemn features.


	3. Mothers & Daughters

_Ships: Nora/George, Casey/Derek  
Genre: Angst/Family  
Published: 05-10-09_

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The bed creaks as she shifts into a more comfortable position. How long has she been here? Minutes? Hours? Days? She isn't sure. George has come to check on her incessantly. Well, it _feels _incessant. She can faintly hear little Marti's voice echo down to the basement, "What do you _mean, _Nora isn't feeling well?"

She is a little glad Casey isn't here, to hover in that way she knows she would.

But at the same time, she wants to see her eldest daughter, because Lizzie isn't old enough to really handle something like this. But then again, who _can _handle something like this?

She can't. There's a throbbing, gaping hole in her chest; the pain magnified with every breath. A name slips out past her cracked lips: "_Jennifer." _It was a girl, _her _little girl, and she was supposed to be holding her in her arms right this moment, her big blue eyes staring back at her in wonder as Nora chattered about all the things they were going to do.

Her arms are empty.

Was it the thoughts of not wanting another child? The apprehension of raising another infant in at her age? Was it the poisonous statistics of down syndrome and other defects? Did _she _kill her own child with those dark thoughts?

Nora feels guilty. There has to be something she could have done. Even with all the fears, Jennifer was the little surprise she had been waiting for. She can't even begin to describe all of her fantasies. There's something magical about an infant, a toddler. The wonder and curiosity in their eyes—the pure _joy. _The way they were able to find excitement in such simple things.

A broken sob escapes her throat. Nora was supposed to be going through that right this minute.

George hears and he comes down the stairs, taking her into his arms gently. He shushed her as she begins to babble incoherently.

"_I'm a horrible mother."_

"Nora, you're a wonderful mother. Look at Casey, look at how Lizzie's growing up. Hell, look at _Derek._ Without you, I have no idea how I would have managed raising them. You're so, _so _good to them, Nora. I love that about you, you know?"

His words have little effect.

She curls up in a little ball against him, sniffling, making him feel useless.

They haven't told the kids yet. Nora wants to wait.

When she falls asleep, though, George sneaks upstairs. Holding the phone close, he prays for someone to pick up.

"Hello?"

A loud sigh wooshes out, startling him. He was unaware that he'd been holding his breath.

"Casey?"

"George! How are you? How—"

"Casey, your mother needs you."

"Why? What happened? Is she okay? Is Lizzie okay?"

"Yes, they're fine. Listen, no one else knows yet, but…she lost the baby."

Silence. George can hear yelling. It suspiciously sounds like Derek.

"We'll be there tomorrow."

He hears static, a clicking noise. More talking.

"Dad?"

"Yes, son?"

"I'm sorry."

"Me too, Derek. Me too."


	4. Nine Songs, Nine Ficlets

_Ships: Emily/Sheldon, Casey/Derek, Lizzie/OC, Trevor/OC  
Published: 06-21-08  
Genre: Various_

_Warnings: Self-harm, M-rated content._

_My contribution to the Shuffle Challenge. I hope you enjoy these little drabbles!_

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_01._

_For You- Staind_

She'd been taught that nothing could keep her from getting what she'd wanted. No one could tell her she was anyone different. Her parents said, _Emily, love, just because you're black does not mean you can get pushed to the bottom. Stay strong, love, stay strong._

So she did; she stayed strong, even when that little boy asked why she didn't have a black mommy. Even when the "love of her life" (otherwise known as Derek) had chosen another girl over her.

She was lying on her bed, her pillowcase tear-streaked. Here she was, _not _being strong. Here she was, _crying her eyes out _because her father didn't like her boyfriend. Her sweet, dorky, loveable Sheldon.

She sat up, wiping her tears away. She'd had enough of this.

"Where are you going?" Her father asked gruffly.

"I'm going to the prom," she announced easily, and stepped out the door.

Her mother smiled at her. They'd raised her well.

_02._

_Katie Come True- Bright Eyes_

She was beautiful when she danced. He had to admit that. All of the nervousness, the stress, the act she put on to please others—it melted away when she danced.

He hid at the top of the stairs, his eyes scrutinizing her form, her skin, her expression. He loved watching her dance. When Casey danced, she was _real. _She didn't think about anything except her next movement; she didn't think about him and how much she hated his existence.

When Casey danced, the anger and hate she forced up just for him, it disappeared. And when he watched her dance…

He felt a little bit loved by her.

Did that make any sense? Maybe it didn't. But that was what he felt.

He just wished he could love her, too.

They were both trapped by expectations and _what-if_s and what _had _to be, as opposed what _could _be.

So he would continue his act. And when she straightened up, and stopped being true, she would start her act as well.

He could only hope that the next scene in the movie of their lives let them love each other. Just a little bit.

He could hope.

_03._

_All Black-Good Charlotte_

It was easy to figure out why he'd never been loved. Being into the things he was interested in didn't exactly make him dating material.

So when the girl stepped into the bar, taking a drag from her cigarette, his heart flipped. She looked at him, green eyes shining strongly through heavy black makeup. Her skirt was short, and pale skin taunted him beneath fishnet leggings; her corset was the color of midnight enhancing every curve.

A girl like this he wanted to know.

She came up to the counter, leaning in close with a smirk. Her lips, the same tantalizing shade of black, were full and oh-so-_fuckable._

"Hi." He said, clearing his throat.

She held out her hand, nails black. "Gloria."

He took it. Her skin was soft.

"Trevor."

"You working all night?"

"Yep."

"I guess I better take the alcohol slow, then."

She smiled at him, then. A real smile, not a sexy smile or a smirk.

He had a good feeling about this girl, this girl all in black.

_04._

_Shake It-Metro Station_

She was going home with him. Why? They didn't live together anymore. They hadn't, for a long time.

He took one look at her, and she knew why. They stopped at the door, and he leaned in, kissing her, and oh god how she had missed his lips and why couldn't they get along when they weren't having, or about to have, sex?

Her stomach grew warm and she knew all resistance was futile; she wanted him, and she would have him. When they fell upon the mattress, he took off her shirt, taking one breast and making her gasp; he knew her well.

When her hands reached his belt buckle, he smirked, kissed her hard, and somehow she got lost in the darkness and the feeling and his lips and oh god they were underneath the sheets now…

When he slipped inside of her she couldn't think of one sensation she'd missed more than that, and when she came she didn't want to be loved by anyone else except him. Her thoughts grew erratic and crazy when he made love to her, and she loved it that way.

Morning came all too soon, and she'd realized what had transpired the night before. She also realized that she was too in love with her stepbrother. Brushing one curl out of his face, she watched him sleep. Mornings after sex with him made her want to cry, because she did love him and yet they weren't together.

Her phone went off. She checked the caller ID. Sally.

Sally. Oh, _his_ Sally. Sally, who had undoubtedly spent all night crying. Sally, who was wondering where he was, worried sick. Sally was calling _her_, probably in extreme confidence, probably thinking that he'd gotten drunk somewhere and _Casey_, his dear stepsister, would help find him.

Sally, who he'd just proposed to a night before.

He was Sally's, not hers. And as much as she wished they could run away and start over, she knew they couldn't.

When he stirred, all he found next to him was a note.

_Don't try to find me._

_Casey_

_05._

_Natural Life-Breaking Benjamin_

Lizzie didn't know what was worse—running away, or lying to her family. When she got to the bus stop, Kate was already waiting for her.

"I thought you wouldn't show, Liz." She said, grabbing her into a hug.

She looked at her, took in the white-blonde hair, the hazel eyes, the lips. She took in the face she'd fallen in love with all-too quickly.

"What?" Kate asked, looking self-conscious. Lizzie put her hand on her face, smiled a little.

"Nothing." She said. When the bus was loading, and people were distracted, she took that face into her hands and kissed the girl, and Kate kissed her back, surprised but also pleased.

"I love you, you know."

"I love you too. We won't be gone forever, Liz. We'll come back someday."

Lizzie knew this, but she couldn't help but feel sharp pain at the thought that little Marti would be crying her eyes out, that Edwin would be by himself again, that Casey would lose her only sister.

But she couldn't stay here, either. Kate couldn't stay here, not with that insipid hellhole of a high school waiting for them.

They would finish high school at Kate's mom's place. At least this year. Next year was up for discussion.

Lizzie had to do what was best for herself, first, and that meant not living a lie anymore. Kate took her hand.

That meant letting herself fall in love.

_06._

_Bleed Like Me-Garbage_

It started during junior high.

Having siblings of legacy wasn't doing wonders for her reputation, believe it or not. No matter how hard she tried, she wasn't as perfect as Casey, or cool as Derek, or environmentally-conscious like Lizzie, or technologically-advanced like Edwin.

She was just Marti.

Anyway, it had started during junior high. She'd caught a girl in the bathroom fighting to hide the blood seeping into her sleeve, and when the girl pulled the clothing up, she saw it.

Lines. Red, crying lines of pain. The old lines were purple, mottled and bruise-colored.

The girl had taken a look at Marti, and hysterically begged her to keep it a secret.

"Why?" She'd asked, shell-shocked at the abuse. It was a stupid question. Marti had heard of it before. Health classes had begun covering it. But she just thought it was a joke, a ruse.

The girl, shaking and scared at the thought of being discovered, couldn't answer.

"Just don't tell anyone. Please. _I need it._" The girl threw on her jacket and hurried out of the bathroom.

When she got home one night, a few days after the incident with the girl, George had yelled at her for failing every class except Art and PE.

Nora had petitioned in her favor, telling George that Marti still had time to get her grades up, but he hadn't relented.

Later that night, she stared at the pink Bic razor for a moment before using a paperclip to remove the safety bar.

She remembered what the girl had said. _I need it._

Marti set the razor to her skin. It wouldn't really work. It wasn't like drugs or anything. But…what _if…_

And the addiction had claimed her.

Now, during her senior year, her mother was asking her why she wouldn't wear "that nice yellow blouse" for her graduation photos. And Marti was stumped. Panic grew into the pit of her stomach. Having Nora as a surrogate mother had kept her exempt from a prying mother. She hadn't realized how hard it was to hide when your mother was bent on getting her way.

"Why, Marti?" George chimed in.

"I just don't! God!" Marti sniped, and ran up to her room.

She could hear her parents.

"Maybe we should have the older kids come down. I bet she's just stressed because she's getting all of the attention."

So it was set. Derek, Casey, Edwin and Lizzie made plans to come down the next weekend, and the shirt argument was set aside for the time being. Marti sighed a breath of relief.

Of course, her luck didn't hold out for long. At dinner, the yellow t-shirt argument made its way into her life again.

"So, Marti's getting her pictures taken soon." Abby said, dishing up the mashed potatoes.

"Stop already, _mother._" Marti growled.

"What is your problem, young lady? Honestly, I can't figure it out. I want you to look nice, and you _insist _on wearing those long shirts. And it's not just the shirts. I can't get you to wear a nice skirt anymore, or god forbid ask you to come to the beach with a swimsuit." Abby finally asked.

The table grew silent.

"Stop trying to control me, _mother. _You have no right to come up here when you want to be. You're not a _real _mother." Marti spat venomously, and tossed down her napkin, bolting to the sanctuary of her room before anyone could get her to stay.

It was Casey who figured it out. She was an adolescent therapist, after all. But being Casey, she didn't say anything until she got to Marti.

"Knock, knock, kiddo."

Marti didn't say anything.

Casey sat next to her. "Look, Marti…" she trailed off, looking at her garment-covered arms despite the ninety-degree heat.

"Marti, I know what you're doing." Casey finally announced.

Her stomach flipped, and panic set in. "What? What am I doing?"

"Marti, show me your arms." She said gently.

"No!" Marti said, alarmed.

"I won't tell anyone. You need to. But I want to help."

"Stop it, Casey." Marti said, her voice high, tears brimming.

"Hey, hey, Marti! What's wrong? Why are you crying?"

Casey sighed. Stupid Derek. Of course he had to come at the wrong time.

"Nothing! Casey thinks I'm some kind of… of… _freak!_"

Derek's smile faded into a confused expression.

"Then show me your arms, Marti. Show me I'm wrong."

"I'm not showing you a _damn _thing!"

"What, did she get tattoos or something?" Derek asked, sitting on the other side of Marti. She officially felt suffocated.

It was then she started bawling. She hated that she felt so weak. But it was all she could do. Casey knew, and her world was crashing down around her.

When Derek took her arm in one hand and pushed the sleeve up with the other, she cried harder.

"_Smarti." _Derek hadn't called her that in a long time. And she'd never heard that broken tone come out of his mouth before.

Casey got up and left the room quietly, letting Marti be comforted by her Smerek. She would need it.

_07._

_All That You Are-Mudvayne_

Max suddenly knew what she meant when she said she'd _needed time._

He saw Venturi's eyes on her when he thought no one was looking.

Casey was Derek's girl.

She always had been. He'd been foolish to think otherwise. Maybe Casey wasn't aware of that. She wasn't.

The great Derek Venturi was so in love with her, _he_ didn't even know.

But he saw Casey's eyes on Venturi too. He saw how she smiled, how he made her _feel. _He saw how crazy Derek made her.

It was love.

And Max…

Max was nothing.

_08._

_Stop Crying Your Heart Out-Oasis_

She had loved him. It was time she was thankful for that. It was time she let him go.

They had had their moments. The movie nights, the secret trysts. He had whispered his _I love you_'s after they'd made love. He had told her why she was his. He had kissed her senseless, made her feel in a way she'd never felt before. He was the love that taught her how to see.

Many people didn't get that kind of love. She had to be thankful.

So they weren't meant to be. That just meant her own meant-to-be was somewhere else out there. She had loved Derek Venturi. And he had loved her.

But Casey was his meant-to-be.

Sally just needed to stop crying her heart out and find her own.

_09._

_Centerfolds-Placebo_

It was at the airport that he had seen her for the first time in three years. He hadn't expected to find her like this. Svelte. Graceful. And somehow beautiful enough to make his heart hurt.

To see her blue eyes staring into his, telling him that there were still words unspoken and that there was nothing he could do about it…it killed him. It really did.

He wished he could hold her now. Give her a real hug. If he'd known, he wouldn't have been so childish and given her a hug. At least that. But he kept the game up. Kept up his lies. Casey meant nothing to him, he said.

She died thinking he didn't care about her.

"You gonna buy that?" the cashier asked gruffly.

He held the magazine in his hand, weirdly shocked at the interruption.

He took one last look into her eyes. Looking at the other magazines on the shelf. There was no sign of her and her pages. He couldn't leave her here. Not again.

Clearing his throat, he closed the magazine and put it into his carry-on bag.

"Yeah….yeah, I'm going to buy it."


	5. Need

_Ships: Implied Derek/Casey  
Published: 05-07-09 _

_Genre: Friendship/Romance_

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Face it, McDonald," Derek says between angered breaths, "You _need _me! Why else would you interfere so goddamn much in my life!"

Casey's snarly quickly morphs into one of coolness. "I don't _need _you, _Venturi_. I've never needed you. Without me in your life you'd have no one to belittle, no one to prank, no one to _hate._"

There was a silence as carbon dioxide was expelled, and oxygen taken in.

"I'm done with you, Derek."

With that final word uttered, she whipped around and slammed her bedroom door in his face.

"Fine with me, Princess!" Derek called, storming off into his own space and slamming the door hard enough to make the walls quake.

Alone in his room, Derek plops down on his bed and wonders why his stomach has turned queasy. He could ignore Casey. It's not like they had heart-to-hearts anyway.

Stupid Casey. It's not his fault her precious Truman tripped and fell. Anyone could have tripped over his shoe like that.

Okay, so the guy broke his nose. So what? He was gonna live.

And maybe he kindasorta stuck his foot out on purpose.

But Derek's done this shit before, and Casey's always gotten over it.

She'd forget all about her recent pact in a week and beg him to babysit or cover her night for the dishes. Typical caught-up Casey.

It was just terms. Words.

Nothing was gonna change.

Really.

o-o-o

"Morning, mom," Casey says cheerfully, as she flips over the bacon in the pan, "I made breakfast."

"Well, this is nice." She says, taking a seat at the table and sipping from the coffee mug.

When Derek smells the bacon, he runs down the stairs. And sure enough, in all its glory, it lays piled high on a plate.

"Thanks Nora," Derek says, shoving his mouth full of pork.

"Don't thank me. Thank Casey."

Derek puts a pause on his gluttony for a moment, and looks at her. She doesn't bother meeting his gaze.

"Thanks, Spacey."

"You're welcome, Derek." She says this calmly, cutting her pancakes into small pieces. Casey was one of those odd people that ate pancakes plain. He'd never understood that about her. Well, he didn't understand a lot of things about her.

She makes small talk. Chats about the weather, about school, about Emily.

But no matter how many disparaging remarks he makes, she doesn't even look at him.

o-o-o

At first Derek kind of enjoyed Casey's non-role in his life. He got the TV all to himself, turned on the music loud without getting one word from his usual pain in the ass.

He makes remarks about girls, about life in general, really, without having to listen to her incessant lecturing.

It's sort of like living the bachelor life all over again, except better because he still gets the good food.

He even gets to drive himself to school. He leaves whenever he wants, gets home whenever he wants.

Skipping school has never been so easy.

And Casey just takes the bus without complaining about the four block walk in the rain, or mud, or whatever unfortunate weather she has to encounter that day.

Casey is still annoying brainiac Casey in class, but she doesn't comment on his arriving fashionably late or failing two big tests.

Life without Casey McDonald is _sweet._

o-o-o

He sees Casey flirting with one of the poetry nerds at her locker (she's so predictable, really—how many women do the hair flip?).

"Hey," Derek says, clamping a hand on the skinny guy's shoulder, "Date someone who'll make you a little bit more popular. 'Cause she's just gonna drag you down, man."

"Uh." Nerd Guy mumbles eloquently.

Casey just flashes him a too-white smile and says, "Feel free to email me for help, okay?"

And then she just walks away.

Derek runs up to her. "Case, come on, you can't just ignore me your whole life. We live together!"

"I'm not ignoring you, Derek," She says, staring straight in his eyes, "I already told you."

"Told me what?"

"I'm done."

He doesn't follow her when she leaves him behind.

o-o-o

Now, Derek by all means is not a desperate man. He's never had to be. Most things come easily to him. Except this weird rash on his back that he _absolutely _cannot reach without the aid of a broom handle.

Anyway, there's a way out of this mess.

Wait, life without Casey is a dream. Not a mess.

Shut up brain, Derek thinks, I've done quite well without you.

I just need…food! Yeah, food, and sleep.

A good protein-rich sandwich and a nap is all I need.

o-o-o

He has to drag himself to school.

"You look terrible, dude." Sam says, slapping him on the back.

Derek winces. "I got hit by a bike."

"A bike? How did you—"

"_I don't know!" _Derek snaps, and storms away.

He's an absolute mess. He really is. Tuesday the Prince stopped working and he had to walk to school because he was already late. Wednesday he realized his laundry hadn't been brought down for the wash and he was effectively out of clean clothes. And then today, Thursday, he happens to be walking within a pedestrian zone and some jackass literally runs him over.

Casey, on the other hand, is doing _just _fine. She's been making friends. And got asked out seven times in one day! Who gets asked out that much?

Except him, of course.

Somewhere between first and second period, after sustaining injury from a wayward soccerball in the hall, two detentions, and numerous comments on his appearance, Derek realized Casey's swapped places with him.

He hasn't been able to sleep without dreaming of her.

It's a little sick, really, how obsessed he is with her, watching her from afar at lunch while Sam and Ralph make fun of the odd bruise on his forehead.

Casey needs to talk to him. He needs to argue with her, piss her off, push and pull with her on a daily basis.

He doesn't know what to do with this excess energy.

What did he do without Casey?

He can't remember.

o-o-o

She's coming out of fifth right now. And he grabs her arm, takes her outside, holds her in place while he tries to get his thoughts together.

"Casey…"

Cue raised eyebrow.

"Talk to me! Tell me I'm an idiot, or…or…a pig, or insult my intelligence, tell me I'm a jackass that needs to grow up, just say _something!"_

Casey just looks at him.

"This last week," he says, in a tilted whisper, "has been hell. And…and…I need you to fix it, Casey."

"First of all, calling you an idiot and then insulting your intelligence is redundant." Casey says, looking out at the parking lot.

"Second of all, I don't need to fix anything, because I didn't _break _anything."

Derek points a finger in her face. "Yes…! Yes, you did!"

Casey crosses her arms.

"You…" he began, drawing out the final syllable of the word, "You stopped being Casey and you broke our push-and-pull thing. And…and…it's just not right, Casey. We're supposed to argue and..and…tell each other we hate the other."

"I never told you I hated you. I don't hate you, Derek."

He clears his throat. "I was wrong, Casey. I need you more than you need me. I need you to yell at me when I miss class, I need you to do all of your annoying Casey things because it's not the same without you."

She looks at him, eyes half lidded, lips pursed shut. "Yeah?"

He lets out a breathy chuckle. "Yeah, Case."

"I guess I kinda missed you too," she says, a small smile growing on her face.

They head back into the school side-by-side, entering their classroom.

She sits in front of him. Halfway through the lesson, he pokes her with his pencil.

"_De-rek!"_


	6. The Real Me

_Ships: One-sided Derek/Casey.  
Published: 04-28-08_

_Genre: Romance_

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

It was midnight. Everyone was asleep, except a certain sixteen-year-old boy, who, clad in his wrinkled pajamas, was busy turning on his video camera and training the lens so it focused on him _just so._

He titled his late night rendezvous _The Real Me._

He sat crosslegged on his desk chair, bringing his hands, entwined, up to his chin.

"So here's the thing," he began quietly, "What you see isn't necessarily what you get."

He took a deep breath. Even when he was along, this whole act of..of…_honesty _wasn't entirely befitting to him. "Anyone who saw me would think I was just a regular cocky, asshole of a guy who skated by too easily and spent too much time with girls and too little time on my responsibilities and homework."

He looked up at the camera, eyes staring straight into the cold, uncaring lens. "That isn't entirely unjustified. After all, I've spent a long time crafting that personality."

He could hear the laughter. The catcalls and the mockery.

He shut his eyes. "Anyone who watched me, anyone who supposedly _knows _me would say I don't care about her."

Pause. His heart pounded, and the pit of his stomach was slowly growing into a frenzy of panic.

"I'm not saying I _love _her or anything. God knows she's irritating and super-keener and tries to be perfect all the time, thus making _me _look like I'm even more of a failure than I actually am."

He ran his fingers through his hair. "I guess…I don't _know_ what I'm saying."

"I care about her, though. I do." He murmured quietly. "And I wish she would take just _one second _to realize every asshole she'd dated isn't remotely good enough for her. Hell, _I'm _not even good enough for her. But those guys? Those guys don't even _try._"

He cleared his throat. "I would try. I'm not saying it would work…But I'd try. God, I'd try."

He chucked wryly at the camera. "Case wouldn't even give me a chance. She thinks she knows me well, after all."

"Too bad she doesn't know the real me."

He unfolded his legs, turned off the camera. Its whirring died down, leaving his room cold and silent. The video went into a password-protected file.

He felt…free, somehow. Purged of his longing, at least for the moment.

He crawled into bed, and, nine hours later, awoke to Casey's _"DE-REK!"_

A smile grew across his sleepy features. Only _he'd_ drive her crazy.


	7. Pictures

_Ships: Derek/Casey  
Published: 05-04-08_

_Genre: Romance/General_  
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_In books and movies, an end is rarely reached without a climax of some sort. However, in the case of primary school, all twelve years are a bustling, chaotic action novel in which our protagonists suffer before reaching the end: graduation. Senior year, for many, is a stressful time, due to the many requirements that seniors are expected to uphold. One of these requirements is senior pictures._

_Senior pictures are precisely where Derek and Casey had reached an end to many things._

_But first, let's start at the beginning._

"Beautiful!" The photographer cooed, reaching out to fluff one of Casey's curls tenderly. Casey blushed, her wide, posed smile replaced with a subdued one. Derek, who was slumped in the corner, eyed the interaction between Casey and this _photographer _with an icy glare.

Grudgingly, he had to agree with the dirtbag. She _had _chosen a good outfit. A light blue top and a black skirt—simple. Her hair was piled upon her head and long tresses of dark brown hair occasionally brushed against her face. Eyeliner brought out the blue in her eyes.

Casey was now sitting upon a chair. The photographer had asked her to straddle it, and Casey, no longer flattered by his compliments, mentioned dryly that she was wearing a skirt.

"I know," The photographer said bluntly.

"Case, let's just _go." _Derek snapped, grabbing her arm and dragging her out.

The woman at the reception desk hurried toward them before they could exit. "Um, excuse me? Why are you leaving?"

"Ask the guy in the back—he's the one who wanted a peep show." Derek snarled.

A man in a pinstripe suit suddenly appeared behind the two teens. "I'm very sorry to hear about the incident Dwayne has caused. Fortunately, I'll let you two have this session for free if you stay for us, and all you'll have to do is pay for the pictures."

Derek stopped, let go of Casey's arm, and pondered this. "Throw in two free pictures and I'm sold."

"Err…"

"Bye."

"Okay, okay! Two free pictures!"

That was how Casey and Derek found themselves back in the photographer's room with the pinstriped man. Derek, having already gotten his pictures taken from _Dwayne _earlier, was back in his slumped position, bored out of his mind.

As the final picture was taken, Derek stood up. "You done, Princess? I got things to do."

Casey scowled. "_No. _And neither are you. We need to take pictures of us together for Mom and George, remember?"

Derek gulped. "Me…and you? As in…touching? As in…in…_hugging?_"

Casey shifted her hands to her hips. She narrowed her eyes at him. "_Yes, _Derek. Get over it!"

With that, she grabbed his arm and yanked him over to the center of the backdrop.

"Okay, Derek, you sit on the chair."

He sat in the chair, his back rigid against the hard metal.

"No, no! The _other _way!"

He shifted, and leaned against the back of the chair, his chest slightly recoiling at the cold metal. He could feel Casey getting closer.

"Now, put your arms on his shoulder. Good, good! Now, tilt your head against his…stay still!"

He could smell her shampoo, and her hands were resting against his neck. Shivers ran up his spine. _Stay cool, Derek. God, it's just Spacey._

"_Smile!" _The pinstripe-suited man cooed.

He forced a smile on his features, trying to ignore the fact that, one, Casey's hair smelled like vanilla, two, her skin was really, _really _soft, and three, her chest was against his back. And it felt really good.

"All done! I'll be right back, okay? You two wait here."

"Okay!" Casey chirped.

As he headed back to the chair he had originally been in, and slumped back into his original position, he noted Casey's face. She looked hurt.

"What?" he said sharply.

"It wasn't that bad, was it? Taking _one _picture of us together? You look absolutely revolted."

_Revolted? Quite the contrary, Case._ He didn't answer Casey's question.

She sat next to him. "Well, I'm _sorry, _then, Derek. We don't have to print those."

He cleared his throat. "I…uhh…I don't give a shit, Spacey. You print whatever you want."

"Okay, fine then." She said quietly, surrendering easily.

An hour later, with their receipt in hand, the two walked down the parking lot and got into the car. They hadn't exchanged a word.

Derek put the keys in the ignition, and then stopped.

"Case…"

She looked at him.

"It wasn't…_revolting, _okay?"

She smiled. "Really? Do you think they'll like it?"

"Yeah, they really will."

He started the car.

She was looking out the window, a trace of the smile still on her lips.

"Casey?"

She turned to him.

He met her trace-of-a-smile with his own lips.

She smiled the whole way home.


	8. The Closet

_Ships: Derek/Casey  
Published: 05-24-08_

_Genre: Romance/Humor_

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Well, that was a waste of eleven bucks," Derek commented flatly, leading the three other teenagers out of the theatre. Both Emily and Sheldon vehemently agreed, and the only person who seemed to contradict these opinions was the very pale, clearly shaken brunette who lingered behind the others.

Derek noticed this, and with a smirk, said, "Aw, Case, what's the matter? Did that mean little doggy _scare _you?"

Casey sniffed at him indignantly, standing up straighter, her eyes flashing with contempt and a challenge, "Number one, _Der_, they were werewolves, and number two, I was not scared. I was simply mulling over the plot and its striking similarities to Frankenstein—Shelley's version Derek, not some comic book."

Derek smirked again. "Whatever you say, Spacey."

"I was not scared!" Casey snapped.

"Guys, do you _have _to get into an argument every time we spend time together?" Emily whined.

"We're not arguing," Casey said lamely, "I'm simply telling Derek he's _wrong_."

"I want some M&M's," Sheldon chimed in, causing the other three teens to look at him in bewilderment. "Well, I do." Sheldon responded.

Casey opened her mouth, whatever verbal barrage she had cooked up clearly aimed toward Derek, and Emily cut her off. "Look guys! A photo booth! Sheldon, you wanna get some pictures?"

"What about the M&M's?" Emily rolled her eyes.

"We'll get some freakin' M&M's later, just for you, Sheldon, okay?" And with that promise, she dragged the boy to the booth, the curtain clearly symbolizing an annoyance with the stepsiblings that were left behind.

"Now Em's mad at me," Casey complained, "You're such a jerk, Derek."

"It's not my fault you're a wuss," he commented, distracted by a leggy blond who was flashing coy looks his way.

Em, exiting the booth with a wide smile, became dejected as she saw both Derek and Casey heatedly sniping at each other again.

"That's it, Sheldon!" she said, sighing.

"What? Did you find some M&M's?"

She swatted him, and he whined. "No! We need to get those two together."

He blinked at her. "But they live together. And don't they hate each other?"

Emily stared at her boyfriend patiently. "That's the cover, sweetheart. They're crazy for each other! Look at them! Sexual tension, much?"

"Wait," Sheldon said, confused, "They want to have sex?"

"Just follow my lead, Sheldon," Emily said, sighing.

"Hey, Case?" Emily said loudly, snapping the two out of their heated argument, "Let's head to your place. Sheldon wants to play a game."

"I do?" Sheldon said. She hit him.

"Uhm, Em, You know our parents said we had to stay out till they got home. Don't you remember the babysitting disaster? It's why there's no one home, and it's why we're kicked out of our own home," Casey said, leering at Derek, "since _someone _can't be trusted."

"They won't mind." Emily said simply, and grabbed Casey's arm, dragging them to the shadowed Prince in the parking lot.

Derek frowned. "Sheldon, what's up? Seriously."

"Seriously?" Sheldon said dumbly, a wide smile on his face. "I have no idea."

"Fine," Derek grumbled, heading out the door. Sheldon beamed behind him, clearly proud that he had thrown Derek off. Maybe Emily would get him his M&M's soon.

The ride home consisted of Emily telling Casey to get over her parent's rules, and Derek shouting at the two females to shut up, and Sheldon, who uncharacteristically stayed silent.

_I wonder if she'll get me the jumbo bag of M&M's. _He thought.

When the four teens reached the house, Emily bounded out of the car and up the steps quickly, seemingly excited—too excited, really—to enter.

"Your best friend is a freak," Derek muttered to Casey, "Although you're one too—I guess I shouldn't be surprised."

Casey scoffed, sauntering away from him.

They entered the house, and Emily smiled to herself before conducting the next part of her plan.

"Hey, Casey? Let's go to the games closet and you can help me pick something out."

"Great," Derek stated wryly, "This is possibly the _lamest _way to spend a Saturday night."

Casey ignored him and followed her friend.

The brunette entered first, turning on the light. "So what are you thinking of—"

Then the door slammed. And the lock clicked. "_Emily! Get me out of here _right _now!"_

"Sorry!" Emily said in a sing-songy voice, and bounded down the stairs, plastering a worried look on her face.

"Derek, the door locked and I can't get it open!" she said hysterically, tears brimming.

"Okay, okay! Just stay here."

He shuddered, and headed to the closet. Emily silently followed him.

"Figures," Derek mumbled, "She couldn't even figure out the lock on the door,"

Casey stood fuming in front of him.

"I'm going to kill Emily, she locked me in here!"

"Wha—"

Emily, ramming her shoulder into his back, shoved him inside and locked the door, smirking at a job well done.

The two teens screamed and bellowed and threatened terrible things. Emily didn't budge.

"You're staying in there until you to admit to what's up!" Emily said, and headed down the stairs.

"You locked them in the closet, Em?"

"Yes, Sheldon."

"Are you sure they won't kill each other?"

"Pretty sure."

Meanwhile, back in the dimly lit closet, Casey growled. "I can't _believe _Em!"

"Casey, shut up," Derek said wryly.

"No! I will _not _shut up! This is _so _against the…the…Best Friend Code!"

"Best friends have a code?"

"If _males _can have one, then yes," Casey said, scoffing at him.

They shifted until they faced each other, too close for comfort. "Ugh, I can't believe I have to waste _my _Saturday night with _you._"

"Feelin's mutual, Princess."

"Don't call me that!"

"If it pisses you off, I will."

"Fine. It doesn't. It doesn't bother me one bit."

"Fine. _Princess._"

"_Der-ek!"_

He smirked.

Casey changed the subject. "What did Em mean by 'admitting what's up', anyway?"

"You're the one with the freaky best friend. Shouldn't _you _know?"

"Maybe she wants us to stop fighting. Like everyone else."

"I don't like you. We're always going to fight if we don't like each other. People are obviously stupid."

Casey softened. "Do I really bug you that much?"

Derek rubbed his neck, shifting his eyes from hers. "Uh. Yeah. Don't I?"

Her voice was hard. "Of course."

"You're the super keener who cares way too much about being conservative."

"And you're the jerky slacker who cares way too much about yourself,"

"We're doomed."

He dropped his hand down from his neck, and it brushed against hers. She jerked away, stifling the shiver that ran down her spine.

There was an awkward silence, and as they shifted, the floorboards creaked loudly.

"You don't bug me all the time. Just when you're being a jerk and selfish and stupid."

"Gee, thanks."

She looked at him. He sighed, surrendering.

"You don't bug me at all." He admitted quietly, looking into her eyes.

"Wh-what?" She choked out.

"Nothing, Case." He said, shaking his head.

"No, Derek. Come on. Tell me! I don't bug you? What…What _do _you think of me?"

"I think…" he sighed, "I think you can be pretty cool. And…fun, even."

"R-really?"

"What, has nobody told you that before?"

"Honestly? No." she paused, picking at her nails. "I think you can be really nice, Derek. And…I really like your company when you're that way. You say I worry about what others think of me, but you do too, Derek."

"Do not."

"Do too."

"I wonder how long we're going to be here." Casey sighed.

"Probably all night."

A bubble of anxiety welled up in Casey's stomach. "Can I admit something? And trust you won't use it against me? Of course, that's stupid…you will, won't you?"

"I'm not _that _bad, am I?"

"Sometimes," she said quietly.

"Okay, I promise I won't use it against you."

"It's embarrassing." She said.

"It's not like you're going to admit some undying love for me, Case. Come on."

"I…care about your opinion of me."

He looked at her, surprised. _"Why?"_

Casey shrugged lightly. "I'm not sure."

Somehow in the intimacy of their conversation, Casey had gotten closet to him; their hands were touching.

"I kind of care what you think of me too." Derek admitted grudgingly.

"So we don't hate each other?"

Derek mused. "No. But don't think you're getting out of my pranks or anything, Spacey."

Casey ignored this. "If we don't hate each other, that what do we…feel?"

"I am not getting tied up in _this _conversation." Derek said.

"I want to know, Derek!"

"Fine. We like each other. Living together isn't as sucky as it first was. I am not going to be your buddy or anything."

"You don't think of me as a sister," Casey said darkly, "So that prerequisite of _liking_ me isn't there."

He looked at her, his lips set in a firm line. He was towering over her. "I _said _I didn't want to talk about it."

She stood on her tiptoes and sneered at him, her stomach against his. "You're such a bitch sometimes." He said thickly.

Before she could retaliate, his arms snaked around her. He smirked at the surprise in her eyes.

He leaned closer to her, close enough to make her breath quicken. When he spoke he could feel slight contact of his lips with hers.

"Princess," he said huskily, "Why _would _I ever think of you as a sister?"

He kept his head there, his lips close to hers, waiting for her to close the tiny gap between them.

Part of her wanted to squirm away. Part of her wanted to kiss him. Assailed by contradicting thoughts, Casey stood frozen.

"Don't think." Derek said.

She kissed him, and with a rare moment of aggression, pulled him closer, her nails digging into his back.

Sheldon was sitting on the couch. Emily cocked her head, waiting for a sound. Any sound.

"Pretty quiet up there."

"Should we call the cops?"

"Hush, Sheldon."

Emily snuck up the stairs, and unlocked the door, waiting for the two teens to emerge bloody and maimed.

Casey pulled back. "Did you hear that?" she whispered.

"It's just the lock."

They both paused.

"My room?" Derek whispered with a suggestive smile.

Emily was not at all prepared for the blur of colors that exited the closet, and then the sudden slam of Derek's door—and only Derek's.

Emily smirked.

"Come on, Sheldon," She said, pulling her jacket on. "Let's get those M&M's."

"What about Derek and Casey?"

"They're a little busy now."

"Oh." He looked at her, a little smile on his face that made him look boyish.

Her eyes twinkled. "Climb up the tree into my room, silly."

Sheldon smiled. "You're better than M&M's, Emily."


	9. Translucent

Ships: Derek/Casey, Casey/OC  
Published: 04-27-08

Warnings: Angst.

"_She hated that dog because it told her every day that she'd chosen the wrong man, and there was no going back."_

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The water gurgled as she took the sponge and wet it. The dish soap, a bright, translucent green, made its oily descent into the water with a silent fury. It spread, and then began its foamy takeover. She held the dishware in her hands gently, as if they were children instead of eating utensils. They were washed with an equal sense of maternal love. If she'd had a child, she'd be a good mother.

It hurt her greatly that she'd never had a child. She would have loved it like any mother. Ten years ago, she'd planned to be in love and have the picket fence, a golden retriever, and the two-point-five kids. Everyone's American dream.

Instead, she had a rusted, senile chain-link fence, a weedy yard, and an aggressive Labrador mix that enjoyed only her husband's company. She began to scrub the dishes harder, the stress beginning its descent with no chance of an end.

She hated that dog. How it growled at her when she fed it, when she picked up its disgusting, drool and germ infested toys. She hated how it was a symbol of her own pathetic, miserable life. She hated that dog because it told her every day that she'd chosen the wrong man, and there was no going back.

The door opened, and her husband ignored her. He sat down at the table and stared at her with his beady eyes, commanding her silently to bring his him food, the dinner that he was three hours late for. She did not argue with him. She brought him his dinner. He grabbed it roughly and did not utter a word of gratitude. He complained that the meat was tough, the vegetables were too soft, and the bread was stale.

The dog sat next to him, a rumble emanating from its throat. The man laughed at this, patted its head, and gave it the meat she'd spent an hour seasoning and baking.

She returned to her dishes. She scrubbed until she could see herself in the heavy, sharp steel.

She looked tired. Deep black circles were around her eyes. She was thin, too thin, and her cheeks were gaunt. Her shoulders hunched forward. Her hair, usually a thick, glorious dark brown, was stringy and thin. This girl was nothing like the girl on her wedding day.

Her husband yelled at her, telling her she was worthless. She'd forgotten to tape the game on TV. He'd spent all day working, and she couldn't do _one _thing for him?

She knew for a fact he got off at five. He got home at eight. Their thin, wispy bodies and innocent giggles and wet lips kept him occupied for three hours. He fucked them as easily as he lied to them.

Answer me! He yelled, grabbing her bony shoulder and pulling her to meet his gaze. Water and steel was pulled along with her, and he grew angrier at being wetted by the dirty and lukewarm water.

Her hand jerked, and his anger died out. His shirt was wet. He let out a gurgle, a wasted, pathetic sound that satisfied her. His dog roared at her, leaping toward her with bared teeth.

It let out a yelp, and landed on top of its master.

Her sock-covered feet were soaked. She slipped off the wet clothing and watched the man and his dog stare at her in pain. She watched them with a cold smile.

Her hand rose.

His head shattered. Over and over again. Spurting his mortality. His eyes gushed out of his sockets. They oozed an odd yellow liquid. The dog whined.

She breathed heavily, feeling the pleasure of exertion and freedom.

She called nine-one-one. The cops found her in a corner, holding the carving knife as if it were an infant.

The cops were disgusted by the massacre. The ruins made them gag, made them gaze at her as if she were a monster. When they took her into the car, she smiled at them. Uneasiness grew in their stomachs. They couldn't meet her eyes.

She was driven to the station, given a fresh set of clothes after she washed herself in icy water. They took her into questioning, and she answered their questions in honesty. Her smile grew deeper as she answered every question.

Her trial was set. She was guilty.

They would kill her. She asked, the day before her murder, to see someone. They obliged, for she had never been a problem. She was devoid of emotion.

She brushed her hair, washed her face. Tried to make herself as pretty as she could.

He came, looking broken, looking torn apart by her actions.

Why? He asked, his voice breaking.

She looked at her, her eyes filling with her own pain. Because I love you, she said.

Casey, he whispered, in a strangled hiss, oh, God. Why didn't you tell me?

She wept. Look at me, she said, look at how pathetic I am. I let one man define me and control me. Would you truly love a woman like that?

He took her into his arms, held her, and cried. They cried together, the pain too much, the _what-if_s running through their heads, causing deep, red slashes.

I wouldn't have cared what you were like, Casey. I would have loved you all the same. He said, his brown eyes drilling into hers.

He kissed her, feverishly, hard, wanted to take all of her, wanting to bring her home and put her back together again, to teach her what real love was like.

The cops entered her cell, and informed her that her time was up.

I love you, Derek Venturi. She said, crying harder, Don't you ever forget that.

He kissed her. Casey, he whispered, _Casey._

The day she died, she looked at him, and only him. He watched back. They cried, not caring what others thought or wondered.

I love you, she mouthed.

I love you too, he answered.

She closed her eyes, and died with a smile.


	10. Proposals

Ships: Derek/Casey

Published: 4-7-08

_Genre: Romance_

_Oneshot. _Who'd suspect random police officers could be so weird?

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The sirens startled her at first. She'd been thinking of how to convince Derek to let her get the cat she'd seen at the SPCA earlier, so needless to say her driving and the freeway had become a steady drone. First Casey moved over to let the car pass, because surely it was in pursuit of the insane blue Cadillac that had blasted past.

The police car continued to tail her; a familiar kind of panic began to consume her. _What? I wasn't driving over the speed limit! I _never _drive over the speed limit! Oh god, what if he doesn't believe me? WHAT IF SOME SICKO PUT COCAINE IN MY CAR? DEREK WILL KILL ME FOR HAVING HIS CAR IMPOUNDED!_

Nevertheless, Casey pulled over to the side of the road and turned down the radio. She took deep breaths, calming herself.

The police car idled behind her, purring like some obedient tiger that would also attack on command. The officer stepped out, wearing sunglasses and a hat. As the officer came closer, the sunglasses suddenly seemed comical, since it was cloudy out, and Casey let loose a stream of nervous giggles.

"Something the matter, ma'am?" The officer asked, a brow arched perfectly, resting his hand on her door.

Casey gulped. "N-no, sir. I mean, sheriff."

The officer grinned. "I'm no sheriff, ma'am."

Casey began to giggle again. The officer frowned at her reaction.

"Ma'am, are you under the influence of alcohol or an illegal substance?"

"N-no. Really," she was laughing harder now, "Though I'm sure I must s-seem crazy to you….o-officer."

The officer pondered this. Casey did not see the slow smirk grow across his face."Well, ma'am, license and registration, please."

Casey did as he asked, her giggles slowly dissipating.

The officer went back to his purring car. He took his time, slowly punching in her name and numbers, all the while watching the dark-haired beauty in the car.

Casey, succumbing to seriousness and logic, waited with a sense of uneasiness. She studied the officer's face as he walked to her window. It was grim and stony.

"Ma'am," the officer sighed, "I have to place you under arrest for assault."

"_Wh-what?!_" Casey screeched.

"Yes, apparently there was an incident, with your husband, a…Mr. Venturi?"

Casey stared at him, gaping like a fish. She wasn't _married _to Derek, why would he think that? Her maiden name was on her license!

"B-but…but…you must be mistaken! Look at my license! It's all wrong!" Casey protested.

The officer offered no sympathy. "Ma'am, please step out of the car and put your hands on the roof of the car."

Reluctantly, she did so. The officer searched her, running his hands along her legs and up her sides. It sent a shiver up her spine.

"Officer," she barked out angrily, "this isn't appropriate at all!"

The officer put his chin in the crook of her neck, and whispered into her ear, "Well, if you aren't married, how can it not be appropriate?"

Casey angrily pushed the officer away. "Not every unmarried woman is a _slut_, you know!"

"Now, now, ma'am, I didn't say that."

"You sure as hell were implying it!"

The officer smirked. "Guess you should get married then, _Case." _He fished something out of his pocket—a small box. Then he removed his glasses and hair, letting his hair free (which somehow had been neatly tucked into the thing).

"Marry me, Case." Derek said, still donned in a police outfit and still lookingridiculous.

"Y-you…you…._you!" _Casey roared.

"Is that a yes?" Derek asked, grinning.

"No!" Casey yelled childishly.

He opened the box. "How about now?"

Casey stood still, rendered speechless.

"_Ohh…_" she uttered after a moment, eyes sparkling. "For me?"

For an answer, he slipped the ring onto her finger.

"Wait! I haven't said yes yet!" Casey said triumphantly.

"Shut up, Case." Derek murmured, taking her into his arms and kissing her.

Numerous cars honked at them, bewildered by the open display of an authority figure being swept away by a pretty girl, perhaps.

"I'll let you win this time," She breathed, "But first I want to get a cat."

"Deal." He murmured.

"How did you even set all this up, anyway?"

"Mm. I'll tell you after I take you up to my room…"

"Derek, we're on the highway. Home is another thirty minutes from here."

In realization, Derek frowned. "Dammit."

"Race you there?" Casey suggested impishly.

Derek grinned.

The sirens began to wail, and half an hour later, the car's cries were silent.


End file.
